Victim of Love

By Barbara Woster

An act of kindness places Cara in mortal danger. (Romantic Thriller) In an era when cultures maintain a cautious truce; one man's pursuit, in the name of love, endangers all those he cares for; while another man's obsession spawns a devastating drive to massacre all who stand in his way ~~ trapping one woman between them; the victim of love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barbara Woster
• Release date: Jan 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781733660280

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

What do you think you are doing?

The voice that rose above the din was distinctly feminine and unquestionably irate. Although not screeching, the tone was shrill enough to silence every movement within audible range, including the man wielding the whip.

Cara Martini pushed through the crowd and stopped nose-to-nose with the castigator. More precisely, nose-to-chest, but in her current state of agitation, she was as foreboding as he—despite her diminutive stature. The stench arising from his sweating body was repugnant, but she remained firmly planted, for the nearness prohibited her from viewing the bloodied individual tied to the whipping post behind him.

Although she wanted nothing more than to aid the person strapped, hanging slumped and nearly lifeless; eyeing the tortured soul wasn’t a mandatory part of that help as far as she was concerned. So, she stood with her nose only inches away from Rankle’s dirt-covered, sweaty chest, lifted her gaze and speared him with a look meant to bore a hole in his brain.

She’d watched from her bedroom window as Rankle hauled the protesting person across the main street and cringed. She couldn’t make out the person meant for the beating, as Rankle’s large frame overshadowed the petite form of the person he intended to assail; but to her it didn’t matter, for she knew that Rankle was not a man known for his restraint with a whip. Too many times, she had seen justice meted and then watched as the man continued to raise and lower his whip as if deriving some perverse pleasure from the infliction of pain. She’d seen it too many times and had had enough. If she couldn’t help them all, perhaps she could assist one from a lengthy stay at the doctor’s quarters, or a fitting for a coffin from the undertaker.

Common sense told her to remain safely ensconced in her room, but she was not much for listening to sense, common or otherwise.

Good day to you, Miss Martini, Harold Rankle murmured, taking a polite step back before tipping his hat. He pulled a dirty handkerchief from his equally filthy jeans pocket and wiped the sweat dripping down his face. What is it that I can do for you on this fine day? He returned the brim of his hat to shade his eyes and tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket, waiting patiently for her response.

Cara knew that his polite demeanor was a ruse. Just as he, no doubt, could see the angry disgust in her own gaze, she saw the angry irritation in his. He only treated her with regard because of who she was and because she was a lady. That didn’t mean that he was pleased at having his task interrupted. He was having the time of his life and it riled him that someone would dare interrupt his pleasure—especially a tiny whiff of a girl. Were this a man, he’d have just punched him immediately. His jaw clenched and re-clenched as he waited for her to speak, but within a minute, the clenched jaw loosened and a grin formed as his brain envisioned this nosy, interrupting female strapped alongside the other one. He’d derive a great deal of pleasure from beating her too. His gaze said as much.

I’m not certain why you find the beating of a helpless person so amusing, sir, but I am quite certain he’s suffered enough. Cara whispered, appalled at the smile forming on Rankle’s too-big mouth.

Beg pardon, miss, but that simply isn’t your call to make.

Well, I’m forming a formal, and quite public, complaint. There is no way that anyone will agree with you that this person deserves further assault.

The person is a criminal, Miss Martini, and crime must be punished. Are you saying that crime shouldn’t be punished?

Short of murder, there is no reason for you to be thrashing a person to within an inch of his life. Did this person in point of fact, sir, take another’s life?

No.

Then the penalty and torment are certainly sufficient for the crime committed, or do you truly think that removing the entirety of flesh from a person’s back proper punishment for a crime?

Your father left those decisions to me, Miss Martini, not to you.

Yes, well, I’ll take up your misplaced fanaticism with my father presently. Something tells me that he is unaware of your constant abuse of these so-called offenders, especially to the Natives of this land.

Those Natives, Miss Martini, wouldn’t think twice about removing that lovely blond hair from your head to take as a trophy, and leave you for dead, all for a loaf of bread.

In this instance, sir, I cannot see how you are much better than they are then. Still, I am not here to debate the rightness or wrongness of their actions, merely to defend the unjust punishment of the one hanging behind you. Now, will you cease the excessive execution of this so-called justice, or do I find someone capable of stopping you?

As daughter of our esteemed governor, I will bow to your bidding, Rankle said amiably. Too amiably, Cara estimated. There was a catch. There had to be. Just as Rankle’s reputation for meting punishment too severe for the crime was known far and wide; so was his reputation for not backing down from a confrontation. She waited for the hammer to fall and was stunned when it finally did. If you wish for the punishment to cease, I will do so, providing you take the place of the criminal.

Surely my hearing deceives me, she gasped, along with several of the spectators that had gathered to view the on-going confrontation. A confrontation they found amusing until that ultimatum was issued.

You heard me well enough, Miss Martini. You are interfering with the discharge of my duties, but because you are a woman of some importance, I will bow to your request, providing you are willing to take your place on the whipping post and complete the punishment that I started. I can hardly have spoken any plainer. So, what say you? Is this prisoner truly worth your own hide?

Certainly not!

I thought as much. Go back to your needlework, Miss Martini, and leave the justice of Martins Landing to me. Good day. Rankle turned back to face the criminal, leaving Cara standing there in stunned silence. She glanced up as Rankle lifted the whip, the sight of which snapped her out of her bemusement.

Raising her skirts, she dashed around Rankle’s side, placing herself between him and the barely conscious Indian. The crowd gasped loudly in disbelief.

No! I can’t let you do this. No more! Enough is enough! She stomped her foot against the dirt, the effect of which was laughable as the slippered sole made not a sound.

If you don’t move, I’ll issue the punishment to you, strapped to the post or not, and then when you’ve been dealt with, I’ll finish up with the heathen. Is that what you want? Rankle was done catering to the whims of a bureaucrat’s spoiled daughter.

You wouldn’t dare!

As I’ve already said, you are interfering with the duties of my office. If you continue to do so, then I will be well within my right to stop you.

My father will see you hanging on this post if you lay so much as a finger on me, and well you know it. You will strike no one else this day, sir! She straightened her shoulders and crossed her arms over her chest, but her confidence began to wane when he started clenching the handle of the whip.

She suddenly doubted that her standing in the community would stop his carrying out his threat. She glanced about her and decided to elicit help from those gawking nearby.

Surely, whatever this person’s crime is doesn’t warrant this amount of abuse! She said loudly. Isn’t there any person here that is willing to stand against this injustice besides myself? Or, would you wait to do something when it’s your neighbor strapped behind me? What crime, precisely, was committed here? She asked, addressing Rankle again.

Theft.

Of what? A prized mare?

Bread.

Bread! You dare stand there and tell me that the severity of this punishment is because of hunger?

Hungry or not, a crime is a crime, Rankle said, shrugging his shoulders.

Maybe she’s right, Rankle, a voice interjected from beside her and Cara sighed inwardly in relief. Heathen or not, the poor child has suffered enough for the crime committed, surely.

Thank you, Reverend Tomlinson, Cara said with a sigh.

I’d suggest you not get involved, Reverend, Rankle snapped. I don’t tell you how to preach your sermons, do I?

That is hardly the same... Reverend Tomlinson began but Rankle interrupted.

When you beat at peoples’ souls and I sit and watch them cringe, do I jump up and shout for you to stop your duty, cease performing that which you swore an oath to do? Well, consider this my small part of saving souls. One beating from my whip and the poor soul thinks twice about committing the same crime.

The Reverend backed away with a shrug and Cara wanted to scream, Surely you aren’t buying this rubbish?

He’s right, Miss Cara, the Reverend sighed. If crime isn’t punished, then it won’t be long before the criminals take over. As much as it pains me to watch the suffering of another, it’s not my place to interfere.

Poppycock. Justice was served several whip strikes ago. Now he’s merely continuing for the pleasure he derives. Can’t you see that?

You’ve had your moment of protest, Miss Martini, and no one here is willing to stand with you. Now move!

I can’t do that. Cara looked at the people milling about, now with lowered gazes of shame. If she couldn’t move them to action, she feared the person hanging behind her would die. What if someone other than this Indian had committed this crime, she tried once more, her gaze challenging every gaze it encountered; however briefly. Carlton, she snapped at the local baker, what if this was your son? What if he thought it would be amusing to snatch a pie from a windowsill? Would you stand by and allow the beating to go on and on and on? Or what about your daughter, Sarah...

Coddle criminals? Rankle interrupted quickly, suddenly fearful that Cara’s pleas would not continue to fall on deaf ears. He kept his job because he kept crime away; so just as she wanted to appeal to their sense of justice, he needed to feed their fear of sin run amok. Is that what you’re suggesting, Miss Martini? Are you saying that we should just let people behave however they wish without fear of repercussion? No, don’t answer that. I’m tired of your interference. Now move or I’ll move you, and deal with your father’s protestations at a later date.

No!

So be it. Harold cracked the whip at his side, the threat apparent. Cara remained steadfast, her heart racing, her pulse pounding. She wanted to glimpse at the crowd to see if there was anyone willing to stop him; but feared that he’d strike if she glanced away; and then he made his move.

Rankle raised his arm with such speed that the whoosh of air from the whip brushed Cara’s cheek. She cringed involuntarily. She closed her eyes, awaiting the sting of the thin leather that she knew would lash at her at any moment. When nothing happened, she peered from beneath her lashes, and then her eyes flew open in utter amazement.

You weren’t actually planning on striking my fiancé, were you, Rankle? The question was asked with a quiet authority that Cara knew most men would not dare defy, but she also knew that Rankle wasn’t most men. Added to the fact that he was incensed, she could well comprehend his bold insolence, idiotic though it was.

She watched in awed silence the barely perceptible struggle that was occurring. Rankle’s biceps bulged as he attempted to pull free of the iron grip of her fiancé. Casey Scott was equally determined not to let him go until he was confident that Rankle wouldn’t do anything irrational. Both men were tall, brawny, formidable—and livid.

You need to keep a tighter rein on her then, Scott, Harold snapped, tugging on his arm once more, hoping to extricate it from the ever-tightening grip. And tell her to stop interfering with my business.

Casey glared at the man in front of him and drew in a deep breath. He was tempted to let loose his anger; to snatch Rankle’s whip and slash away at the chief magistrate until he apologized for threatening his fiancé. A shudder passed through him as he thought of what might have happened had he not returned to town when he did.

He’d been amused at first, as he rode down the main street and his gaze fell on his fiancé causing a ruckus. She was very passionate about things, which was one of the qualities that initially drew him to her; however, when she moved between Rankle and the intended whipping victim, his breath caught in his throat and his heartbeat accelerated. She was a brave soul, he would credit her with that much, but sometimes he wondered whether God forgot to add the screws needed to mount her head properly to her shoulders. Didn’t she know that Harold Rankle was a treacherous man?

Apparently, her anger prevented her registration of the peril, but it was clear enough to him. He spurred his horse into a gallop, his worry over whether he’d make it in time increasing with his horse’s stride.

He heard the whoosh of the whip as Rankle’s arm leapt upward just as he leapt from his horse. Another shudder ran down his spine when he thought of what might have happened had his stallion been slow to obey his command. His beloved Cara...

You best learn how to control that temper of yours, Rankle, Casey said, or you’re going to cross paths with someone, one day, that will make you live to regret the day you lose it.

Are you threatening an officer of the law, Scott?

You take it the way you want, Rankle, but you better take it to heart. If you persist in threatening my fiancé, you may find yourself strapped to that post and your own hide flayed. That’s a promise.

I could have you thrown in jail for that.

"And I could have your job, Rankle. Think about that the next time you threaten innocent women!"

Innocent! Have you got blinders on, man? That woman is hardly innocent. She’s a bloody nuisance is what she is.

"Yes, well, she’s my bloody nuisance. Threaten her again and you’ll pay dearly."

Casey shoved at the magistrate’s arm, sending him stumbling backward, and then turned toward Cara, who hadn’t moved an inch or said a word. Her eyes were round as saucers and he wondered shortly if she’d gone into a state of shock—until she dove into his arms.

Oh, Casey! You’re home!

Casey closed his arms around her, Did you ever doubt that I’d be back?

No. It’s just your timing always seems to be impeccable, Cara grinned.

Well, if you’d stay out of mischief, I wouldn’t have to have impeccable timing.

Cara moved from Casey’s embrace and turned to look at the Indian hanging from the post for the first time. Her gloved hand flew to her mouth and she gagged slightly. Please, Casey, she pleaded, turning back to her fiancé, cut the poor man down. He can’t be more than a boy. No one deserves this.

Casey looked at the shredded, bleeding bronzed back and felt close to retching himself. Instead, his anger at Rankle returned, and he sent the man a deadly look. He reached into his pant pocket and pulled out his pocketknife, but a hand shot out to grip his arm and prevent its use.

For the second time in a short span, both men locked grips in a barely perceptible tug-of-war.

You don’t have the authority to release my prisoner, Scott, Rankle growled, his face flushed with renewed rage.

Enough is enough, Harold, Casey whispered. Now let go of my arm before I force-feed you this blade.

Rankle shoved Casey’s arm away, You’ll pay for this, Scott. You’ve interfered one too many times for me to let it pass.

I think that you’ll be the one to pay, Rankle, Cara snapped. Once I’ve spoken with my father, you’ll be searching for employment elsewhere, so you may as well start packing...

What the devil?

Cara turned at her fiancé’s exclamation, What’s wrong, Casey? She started, and then stopped as she followed his gaze. Her shock quickly overshadowed her repulsion, as she caught sight of the bloodied person lying in her fiancé’s arms.

Oh, dear Lord above!

CHAPTER 2

Are you completely out of your mind? Cara prided herself on being a lady, which, for her, meant not raising her voice above conversational. Yet, twice today, within the span of half-hour, Rankle had so incensed her that she found herself screeching like an agitated Raven.

As I said, a criminal’s a criminal, Miss Martini, Rankle said, shrugging his shoulder.

A criminal is...? Cara sputtered. You, sir, are a barbarian!

"No, Miss Martini, she is the barbarian, and a thief."

She’s but a girl, and no amount of thievery vindicates what was done here today. Now, I demand an explanation, sir!

You have done enough demanding for one day, Miss Martini, Rankle said, his ire rising again. And since you and your interfering fiancé have deprived me of completing my duties, I will take my leave of you.

You...you...

Cara, Casey whispered, leave him go. I need you to help this poor girl. Can you manage, love, or should I go fetch Doc Parson?

Take her to Doc Parson, Cara whispered. I’ll offer whatever assistance I can, but...oh, dear Lord above, Casey, it’s a wonder the poor child is still breathing.

Casey carefully shifted the Indian maiden closer to his chest, mindful of her shredded back. He started down the main street, ignoring the gawking citizens lining the way. He cast a glance down at the pallor beneath the tan and sighed, If she’s still breathing come morning, I’ll be surprised, he said sadly, taking a moment to address his fiancé’s concerns.

If she dies, I’ll see Rankle brought up on murder charges, Cara declared passionately.

Sweetheart, Casey sighed, you and I both know that the worst that Harold will suffer is a slap on the wrist.

That’s all this poor girl should have suffered.

True enough, but since she received more than that, it’s now up to you and the doc to see she recovers. Stay focused on that, okay? I’ll focus my efforts on seeking retribution against Harold. He’s long overdue. I’ll go to speak to your father. Try to get Rankle relieved of his duties. That’s the most we can hope for, in any case. I hate to think what the men of her tribe are going to do about this, Casey said, taking the stairs to the doctor’s second-floor office, two at a time. Cara lifted her skirts, trotting up after him as quickly as she could manage. When she reached his side, she pushed open the door, not bothering to knock. She wished she hadn’t.

Oh, heavens! She exclaimed, stumbling back into Casey and slamming the door shut behind her.

What? What’s wrong, Cara? Casey exclaimed, trying to regain his balance. You nearly sent me tumbling down the stairs.

I’m sorry darling, but I just...Casey, promise me when I’m old and my sight is going, that you won’t offer to purchase me eyeglasses.

Why ever not?

Because I never want to see that good again.

What are you going on about, Cara? We need to see the doctor.

"I did see the doctor and he is occupied at the moment," Cara started to explain, when the door opened suddenly and Doc Parson stumbled out, fastening his drawers. He careened into Cara, his face reddening to a deeper scarlet.

Oh, dear me, he exclaimed, I’m terribly sorry, my dear. I simply wasn’t expecting...that is to say, I never thought...well, I most certainly wouldn’t have been otherwise engaged had I known that someone would stop by—without knocking first, he finished lamely.

"This is a doctor’s office, Doctor, Casey said, his irritation rising. Dropping by is to be ..."

Casey stopped talking when the notorious madam of the whorehouse in the neighboring town sauntered out, fastening her bodice. Next time you feel like entertaining me, she purred close to the doc’s ear, lock the door, will you? I don’t believe in that sort of free advertising. She cast a glance at the girl lying in Casey’s arms, and then back to the doctor. Looks like you have more pressing business to attend to at the moment anyhow, so I’ll escort myself home.

Casey pulled the girl up, closer to his chest, so that everyone could fit on the upper landing, which revealed the lash marks lining the girl’s back. The madam barely cringed as she scooted past and headed down the stairs.

Uh, Penelope ...

I’ll see you next week, Arty. How else can I repay you for the invaluable service you perform for me and my girls?

How else indeed, Cara heard him mutter under his breath. Well, you two, don’t just stand there, bring her inside. I don’t require a medical degree to know what happened to her. What did she do to get on Rankle’s bad side? He asked, leading Casey through the main office to the back room.

Stole a loaf of bread, Cara said, trying to regain her calm. At least that’s what Rankle accused her of doing.

A loaf of bread, huh? Well, I hope she got to eat it at least. Otherwise, this wasn’t really worth it, now, was it? The doctor leaned over the girl and immediately set to removing pieces of fabric from the seeping slash marks crisscrossing the bronze skin. They ought to make a law that the shirt be removed before lashing, the doctor muttered to himself, picking at the larger pieces of cloth, at least then, if the person survives, my job of healing will be far simpler.

Cara’s eyes widened in disbelief at the callous observation. She was about the snap a rebuke when Casey placed a calming hand on her shoulder and shook his head.

Not now, Cara, he whispered. I’ll be back later, Casey called out to the doctor and then placed a light kiss on Cara’s cheek. Do your best for her."

Did you think I wouldn’t, Mr. Scott?

Not in the least, doc.

Very good. Be on your way so that I can get started saving this poor girl’s life. You going to help me, Miss Martini?

That’s my intention, yes, Cara said, less than enthusiastically.

Yes, well if so, then the main thing is for you to stay lucid and erect. If you can manage that much, hand me those tweezers on that tray yonder.

Tweezers?

Yes tweezers. Can you think of a better way to remove the smaller pieces of cloth from this girl’s back, or did you think perhaps I was going to take the time to pluck my eyebrows!

Sorry, Cara muttered, passing the tweezers over.

Now go and boil two pots of water, the doctor started, and then snapped when it looked as if Cara was going to question his next order, and by God, don’t ask me why. I’ll tell the whys when I think you need to know them.

Cara sighed, and then turned to follow his curt instruction.

And the final thing to know if you’re going to stay to assist me, he called after her, is to do first and ask questions later.

The moment Cara returned; the doctor returned to barking orders.  Find some strips of cloth—should be some in the chest just yonder—and put them in the first pot.

Yes, doctor.

Good. Just keep saying ‘yes, doctor’, and following my instructions and we may just get through this.

If I don’t kill you first, Cara muttered, pulling strips of cloth from the chest.

CHAPTER 3

I think it’s time to find another chief magistrate, Governor Martini, Casey said without preamble, the moment he strolled into the governor’s office.

"We have an extremely low case